Recapture the Rose
by TheHauntedMushrooms
Summary: Your desire shall be your redemption. Your salvation. Your destruction.
1. Chapter 1: Causatum

_HI everyone! hope you all are doing amazing! so wow my first POTO fanfiction! :D so excited i finally managed to introduce my friend to the workd of POTO and i converted her ;D "a whole new worrrrrrrld..." haha anways! :) hope you peeps enjoy!_

_I own nothing! If i did, then you would get free pies on Wednesdays_

* * *

_Scrrrrrtch. Scrrrrtch, scrrrrtch, scrrrrtch...Shff, shff. Scrrrrtch..._

Long lines were sketched in a lazy, haphazard way across the parchment's yellowed surface. Heavy strokes were drawn with a blunt quill in no apparent pattern, lacking consistency and precision as an aimless mind struggled to create an understandable form. Papers lay scattered about the worn mahogany desk, not used for many years. A single candle flickered, on the edge of dissipating. The orange flamed illuminated only a pathetic portion of the room, allowing little viewing capacity to untrained eyes.

_Scrrrrrtch..._

The candle's feeble flame gave faint accentuation to an ivory feather, settled loosely in five slender fingers. The yellow cast showed the detail of the man's marred digits. Scars compiled over a lifetime decorated the hands of this man, hinting at a life of hardship and pain. Some scars were faded with time, others recent. Despite this, the fingers flowed with smoothness and agility, capable of sharp and sudden actions if provoked. These hands evidently appeared that they were gifted with hidden talents, unusual traits. These hands were experienced masters of creating beauty or complete annihilation within a blink of an eye.

These were the hands of an artist.

The hands, that were currently scribbling down nothings, flowed smoothly into a well-defined forearm that was covered in black linen. The arm completed itself into a compactly muscled bicep, finishing into a broad shoulder. The lines of the neck were strong and looked to possess fierce vocal capacity. The chiseled outline of the jaw started off exquisite bone structure in the cheeks and nose. The features were most definitely masculine, though the dark, faintly arched eyebrows and smooth skin was a cause for question. A thick mass of raven hair was neatly slicked back off the face and glistened in the faint light.

All of these features combined created a breathing Adonis. The complete perfection and balance of the features appeared to be sculpted by Michelangelo in the purest of marble.

However, upon closer inspection, one would come to realize that the eyes were slightly unusual. The slender shape tilted upward to give a menacing look as the thick lashes provided a veil of mystique. The shocking yellow, however made the entire face take on a new light.

Vibrant amber, flecked with black and honey, shimmered with a deep hidden intellect. Years of disturbing knowledge lurked within those glassy orbs, observing every detail of his surroundings with quick accuracy. The slightest of movement, faintest flicker of light, or even the almost invisible jilting of the door handle all appeared sloppy and obvious to him. Especially the door handle.

The man slid his gaze to the direction of the entry with distaste. With an unhurried arrogance, he arched his cramped back, wincing at the stiff cracks that filled his ears. As he rolled his weary head to the left, then to the other side, his lungs stretched, allowing in new air. With an exasperated sigh, he acknowledged the doorway again.

"I had hoped if I ignored you, you'd leave me in peace...," he called out to his uninvited visitor.

He heard the person behind the door gasp then gulp in a deep breath. He also heard the hushed tinkling of a hastily-opened flask and the sloshing as some of its' contents fell onto the hall floor. The person then coughed from the consequence of nervous chugging as he hesitantly tried for the door again, as his other hand knocked.

"If you are here about the rent, then you may as well leave. I've no money to give you. So, if you will be so kind as to STOP BANGING ON MY DOOR!"

The man behind the door stumbled back from the sudden outburst on the other side and frantically scrambled down the hallway. A few seconds later, the sound of a crashing glass bottle could be heard a little ways out the door of the complex.

_Drunken idiot_, the man concluded.

With that, he dropped his head into his hands and let loose a throaty groan. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb as he furrowed his brow. His eyes ached from hours of "intense work." He peered at the scattered papers on his desk from between his fingers. It was a mess, not a creation. He glanced around his dank, dreary apartment and frowned.

Papers were thrown everywhere from outbursts of frustration or utter apathy of where they fell. A large ink spot decorated the middle of the room and blotched the walls black from careless activities. Not a painting adorned the room and the carpet, faded. To finish it off, everything was coated in a thick layer of dust.

There was a bed over in the corner. It was the only semi-fixed thing in the room, for it was hardly slept in. _If I ever did sleep..._He looked away from the chaos and turned his attention back to the desk.

Something caught his eye. To the left, a small white object was stuffed under his door, apparently in a hurry. _So, he did not come nagging me for my rent, after all._

Choking back a sharp cry, he slowly arose from his chair. With rigid legs, he staggered over to the door and as he bent down, grumbling, to retrieve the letter, he and felt a sharp crack in his lower back.

Grimacing, he shuffled over back to his desk and reached for his letter opener. The envelope had no return address, he noted. He carefully look at the scribbled writing on the front, by someone who was in a rush or had never learned right properly. English, that is. His face hardened as it dawned upon him who the message was from.

_Impossible...impossible..._his mind kept saying as he tore open the ivory surface and quickly opened the note inside.

_My friend,_

_I have heard that this is your current address, by who I am not at liberty to say. _

_Where have you been? How are you supporting yourself? By the time this letter reaches, will you still be at this address? I have read the papers. I know the police are baffled. They have no clue that it was you. But I know, I can tell. You forget that I know you too well. I have not informed anyone of my knowledge, but I swear to you I will if necessary. How? How could you have committed such a heinous act? _

_By Allah, what have you done? _

_Please respond to me. Don't force me to reveal all that I know. Remember I am your friend. _

_~Daroga_

The man reread the letter over and over as he slowly lowered himself into the chair. The words didn't seem to sink in. _How? How could he have found me HERE?_ He glanced at the words again with utmost confusion,...then paused.

As he studied the reading again, he began to comprehend what it was saying. It was there, an underlying impression. As faint as it was, one might mistake it as concern or even fear, but the way the words were phrased, it was obvious. Anger. That is what it was. _Is he... threatening me? _

Then, the man started to give off a noise. A deep rumbling arose from his chest, only just restricted by the tightly closed mouth. He could not contain it any longer.

Furious laughter poured forth from the man's lips, a laughter that rattled his very diaphragm. The cackling increased in velocity at the mere thought of his friend tracking him down. He could hear the people above his apartment opening doors and the apprehensive chatter of them in the hall, which only caused him to laugh harder.

When his laughter was contained enough for him to stand properly, he grabbed the small trunk from under the bed. With his shoulders still shuddering, he grabbed his few possessions; his violin, two extra bottles of specialty-made ink, a few slips of paper, a quill. He looked about the dirty living space. Overlooking the mess, (there was somebody who is supposed to clean that so it wasn't his problem) he ran through anything he might be forgetting.

Kicking a few books and papers out of the way, he yanked his jacket from underneath a pile blankets. Brushing it off, he shrugged on the black article of clothing and slid on his gloves. He was immune to the cold. It never bothered him, but he always preferred to blend into the shadows, so the jacket was a necessity. As he placed his hat on his head, he reached for his porcelain protection.

He took a moment to study it. In his hand, a blank half-mask judgingly glimmered back at him. It was uncomfortable. If he had his own choice, he would go without it. With a sneer, he applied it to his face. _Ah, but it never was my choice, was it?_

He had own a mask no matter what age he was. For as long as he could remember, from the moment he was introduced into this world, a mask served as his only identity. It was all people seemed to see. It was all he wanted them to. He grimaced as the harsh accusations of his mother returned to haunt his recollection.

"_Oh...my God! What...what is that? Get it away from me!" his mother cried in horror as she looked upon the newborn's face. Such a monstrosity could not have come from her!_

"_But, Milady! This is your child!" the frantic nursemaid countered as she offered the infant to his mother._

_She just turned from the abomination and silently began to shudder with tears. _

"_That," she spoke with bitter disgust, "is not my child. Why did God curse me to bear such a hideous creature?...Take it away. I don't want it."_

_What a pleasant way to be greeted into the world, _he mused. He was once told that his was like the face of a demon that had taken on some human aspect. How accurate. Others had said that he simply had no face, just a skull staring back at them. Few had seen it, but all had left some sort of description. He himself had never really studied his face. He didn't want to look at it, so he didn't. He had never seen it long enough to fully take in the apparition that was him. He was told that it was ugly, so naturally who would want to confirm the matter?

Ignorance is bliss.

He then quickly grabbed his suitcase and swung open the door into the main hallway. Few would be up at this time of night. One man was slumped against the wall, surrounded by many bottles of vodka. Paying him no mind, he slipped out into the cold night air. Unfazed by the frigid atmosphere, he focused his attention on the dark, vacant streets before him.

A faint rustling then caught his attention. To his left, a small boy stood warily a few feet away, staring at him. He stared right back at the boy. He appeared no more than seven, it seemed as his eyes held wondrous curiosity that only a child could possess. The child's face was smeared with dirt and his hair dirtied, but his gaze held infinite interest of the mask concealing the grown-up's face.

Ignoring the boy's rude inspection, the man motioned him closer. The boy was hesitant at first, then consented to the man's request. Turning his head ever so slightly, the man pulled out two coins from his pocket. The boy's interest was no longer focused on getting a gander at his mask, but was now inspecting the money with greed. _How sad it it, that a child's mind had been corrupted at such a young age..._Whispering his command into the imp's ear, he slid one coin into his hand. With a quick nod, the little urchin vanished into the darkness.

Rising into a fully standing pose, he re-positioned his hat upon his head and waited for his carriage. As he began to hear the faint rumbling of horses in the distance, the lights in the inn flicked on. He sighed. He hoped to avoid an altercation. Just as the transport pulled to a stop, a grossly overweight, slightly intoxicated fellow stumbled out from the door and onto the lane.

"It appears that you are leaving us, my good man. Thank you for your stay here, as we always do our best to welcome travelers. However, sir, it seems that you are behind on your rent," The man paused to eye his customer up and down. "and that's hardly a just thing to do, sir."

The beefy male sauntered closer to his shadowy opponent, oblivious. The masked man held his breath, for the Russian in front of him reeked of vodka, harlot perfume, and who knew what else. It looked like he hadn't bathed in four days. He glared at the inn keeper's outstretched, expecting hand, then peered over his shoulder to glance at his bony wife and two children that looked like two sucklings about to burst forth from their filthy clothing. He grinned.

"Of course, my dear friend. I have not forgotten the..._hospitable_ accommodations I have experienced here. Allow me to reward you for your troubles...," He reached into his pocket. "Here. A small token of my gratitude."

The man screeched and flung the spider from his hand. Shouting swears, he danced on the poor creature, throwing up a cloud of dust from the dirt street. He screamed at his wife to help him, as she quickly tried to do so. In the midst of the incredibly entertaining episode, the amber-eyed man tossed the little boy his extra coin, and with a wave of his hand, he disappeared into the blackness of midnight.

* * *

All was still inside the mansion. Not one sound nor sight disturbed the peace. Those who rested inside lay soundly in their beds, quietly dreaming without care. No one could be awake at this indecent hour of morning...No one _should_ be.

_BANG BANG BANG!_

Three loud knockings echoed with marvelous noise capacity throughout the entire house, shattering the calm atmosphere and violently yanking them all from their slumber.

With hurried movements, one elderly maid rubbed the sleep from her eyes and looked around in dazed confusion. Three more strokes the door and it became apparent that someone was wanting to be acknowledged. She pulled back the warmly inviting coverlet and struck a match to light a candle. Quickly stumbling down two flights of steps and struggling to put on her robe at the same time, she made in downstairs right as another chorus of cracks sounded once more. Grumbling, she cracked open the main door and cast a menacing stare.

"What do you mean by banging on someone's door so late, sir? Do you have any idea what time it is?"

"Last I checked, this was not your house and therefore, you have no say on how it is to be run. Now, open this door at once; it's rude to keep a visitor out in the cold."

The women was not used to being spoken to in such a disrespectful tone, and was at loss for words. During her recovery from the insults, the man wasted no time in pushing open the door and inviting himself in. She angrily slammed the door shut and was about to hurl accusations, when her mouth was met with his coat and hat that he had taken off and was now offering her. When she refused to take them, he merely raised an eyebrow.

"I insist in knowing who you are, sir. You must understand that one must not expect a guest at such an hour. What is your business here, and whatever it is, can it please wait until morning?"

The man across from her handed her his jacket again, and when she took it, he replied to her inquisition.

"I request an audience with your master, and no, I do not care what time it is. It can't wait."

A simple hardening of the eyes did enough to send the women rushing upstairs to her lord's chambers. She hesitantly knocked on the door and earned a muffled question as a reply. She knocked once more, and quietly cracked open the mahogany door.

"My lord, a gentleman has arrived to see you. He did not state his name, but mentioned that it is most urgent that he speak with you immediately."

A tuft of hair poked its' way out from underneath a mountain of silken pillows. The exhausted man murmured that he would be down in a few moments. With tired groan, Nadir slid out of bed and ran his fingers through his graying hair to look somewhat presentable. It was odd to have someone calling on him, for he was not expecting any guests. After trudging his way downstairs, he paused right outside the den's doors. Taking a deep breath, he gently opened them.

Inside he saw a man sitting comfortably in a wingback chair across from him. A fire blazed behind him, giving illumination to only his long legs and curled fingers in the armrests. The rest of his face was hidden in shadow. The icy atmosphere was not only from the January night air...

Rubbing his eyes and providing his unknown guest with a plastered smile, the Persian politely inquired as to why this man was here.

"Well, I would, of course, be gracious enough to cordially invite you to my home if I knew who were, Mr.,...?"

The shadow across made no reply. Nadir began to wonder if what he was seeing was real until he saw the man begin to shift positions. With slow movements, like the unfurling of a spider, a face materialized from the darkness. The false pretense dissipated on Nadir's tongue as the smile fell away. Utter horror was imprinted in his dark eyes and his mouth hung opened, unable to speak. He wanted to scream. He wanted to clutch his head in agony and release one loud, long scream of despair. To shake his head in disbelief and point a finger right in the demon's face and cry that he couldn't be here!

_Oh Allah, no..._

"Erik...?"

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SOOOO? ;D haha how was it? lol I hope it was ok! c: tried! lol Please leave a review! Ill give you the triforce of courage and a ticket to Hogwarts if you do! :D

-SHROOMS


	2. Chapter 2: Scorn

**Hello lovelies! I cannot begin to apologize for my delay in this chapter ;3; This chapter simply would not finish. **

**Enjoy!**

**I own nothing,...damn...*munches on Asian takeout***

* * *

Nadir stood in front of his full length mirror, checking the last details of his costume. Smoothing any remaining lint from his cape, he nodded in approval.

_Not bad. _

Reaching to his desk, he took his paper mache mask and slid it onto his face. He twitched slightly at the coldness of the foreign object pressing against his face. Tying the ribbons with slight difficulty behind his head, he pulled it down a little so he could see.

Tilting his head slightly to the left and then upwards, he checked from all angles to see if his costume would work for tonight's grand ball. A dark green mask adorned with gold, it vaguely resembled that of a snake. His outfit was that of a deep emerald, with gold trimmings.

He had cordially been invited by the De Chagny family itself to attend this ball, to celebrate the two lovebirds in returning from Italy. The entire city of Paris was thrilled, both the poor and the rich. Of course, the peasants and common folk were not allowed into this prestigious party, but that did not stop them from celebrating none the less.

Most of the people in the city remembered from the beautiful songbird of the opera. the one who stole the show from that screeching diva, Carlotta. Unlike the horrible soprano, Christine was renowned as a kind, cheerful siren whom the public adored. Of course, the entirety of Paris was thrilled that she was marrying into a nice family, with the man who had saved her from the evil clutches of the phantom of the opera.

Nadir paused.

Naturally this was only one side of the story. It's remarkable how easily people only want to the romanticized views of something that was not only horrific, but tragic as well.

_He brought it upon himself._

"How do I look?"

Nadir glanced over his shoulder, and stopped shortly.

"Yasamin….."

A tall, slim woman stood in the doorway of their bedroom, half-veiled in the shadows. One slender hand rested against the door frame as she hesitantly entered.

"Are you sure it's not too bright?" She pulled slightly at her red dress, her dark brows furrowed in contemplation.

Nadir smiled and approached his doubtful wife. Lightly tracing her full lips, he rested his forehead against hers in a sweetened gesture.

"You look magnificent. Please, don't worry about it anymore. We should get going though, the party starts in thirty minutes."

With a tender rub on her arms, he walked off to slip on his shoes as his wife walked to her vanity. He admired her.

Her long, silky black hair hung straight to her hips, and her caramel skin glistened in the candlelight. Her smoldering eyes still even now after four years scorched his soul. Oh, she had a fiery temper, he was well aware of that, but his smooth disposition evened it out. She, and him as well, were often gossiped about at parties and soirees for their different religion and appearance. Yasamin rarely spoke in public, but she often whispered her thoughts to her husband that nearly made him cough out his drink many a time.

She attached her thin veil over her lovely visage and finished lining her eyes with black kohl. Just before Nadir left the room, she abruptly spoke.

"Is Erik joining us? He has been here for over three days and I haven't seen him at all. Perhaps he is shy, I think a party would do him good."

Nadir blanched.

Erik had been staying with him, Nadir told his wife that Erik was just a visiting friend from medical school.

How it hurt him to life to his Yasamin!

Nadir had spent the entire night, trying to pry open the solitary oyster that was Erik, but to no avail. Erik simply put him off, refusing to answer any questions.

"_What have you been doing the last six months?...You look awful." Nadir hesitantly approached his ominous friend._

_Erik sneered, before rising to pour himself some more brandy. Erik paused for a moment._

"_You know something? I think I might stay in France for a bit. Just to see how Paris is doing. Besides, I left many belongings in the opera house and I would like to see if they are still there." _

_Nadir could see right through Erik's casual front. _

"_I do not think that would be a good idea. The De Chagny family has placed a high bounty on your head, and it's not safe. I can arrange for you to stay-" _

"_I have decided. I am staying here. I trust my room is still vacant?" Erik titled his head back, finishing off the rest of his drink._

"Not this one in particular, my sweet. Besides, Erik is not one for...social interaction. Very private, you know."

"I see. What a pity!" She unscrewed the lid of her Jasmine perfume. "I am truly happy for Christine tonight! Oh, yes they simply say it is a "welcome home" party, but everyone can see right through that! That is going to be engagement party before the night is over!"

With every word Yasamin spoke, Nadir's movements slowed. _All the more reason for him NOT to go...He should have stayed in Switzerland._

"...-and I do believe she shall be very happy with him! He is a kind man….don't you agree?"

Nadir didn't reply, simply nodded.

"Yasamin….do-...do you think Mademoiselle Daae truly loves him?" Nadir quietly spoke.

He really didn't know why he had asked that.

Yasamin paused, and turned in her boudoir chair to look directly at her husband, astounded that he would ask such a foolish question.

"Why, of course I do! It's obvious. Really, don't you understand women?"

Nadir nodded again, and left the room to ready the carriage.

* * *

As he briskly descended the stairs, his mind raced with several thoughts. Mostly about Erik.

He thanked Allah that Erik had left for the night. Early today, at the crack of dawn, Nadir had first made his way downstairs to get breakfast, Erik had already been awake, dressed and on his way out the door. With a simple phrase, he stated that he would be gone for the day and disappeared and not a word from him since.

Nadir grimaced. He had made Erik angry the night before.

In hopes of getting his embittered friend to open up, the Persian had inquired about his music. Erik had always been enthusiastic and eager to explain about whatever composition he was writing at the time. It was one of the very, _very_ few things that Erik was passionate about, that and…._her._

Alas, ever since the disaster of the Opera Populaire six months ago, Erik's creative mind had been silent, locking him out of music. No sound came from Erik's room now. He had inflicted Erik's rage when Nadir had asked why, and in his blind fury, the man had forgotten that his old friend knew him too well.

Nadir knew Erik had lost his inspiration.

Lost in thought, Nadir didn't notice the tall shape that blocked the opening of the stairway.

With a sharp cry, Nadir stumbled backwards, his foot slipping out from under him and he toppled down. He groaned, his lower back had cranged against the marbled edge of the stairs. He struggled to crane his neck up. In the fading light, it gave faint illumination to the masked man.

It was a Erik.

"You look ridiculous."

Erik stood tall and imposing, arms crossed as he glared down at the older man. One dark eyebrow was raised, as he took in the sight before him. Nadir suddenly felt extremely self-conscious under the intense yellow stare.

"Y-you're back, I wasn't aware you would be back so soon. We were just about to leave, we are off to a party, my wife and I. The cook will be happy to fix you something, however-," Nadir awkwardly rose, and resituated his mask.

"Whose?" Erik's simple inquiry cracked Nadir's cool front.

"Oh, just an old family friend. It's nothing important, nothing that concerns you." Nadir looked away, wincing at the unintentional harshness of his tone.

"Hm."

Nadir inwardly breathed a sigh of relief at Erik's apparent lack of interest. He approached the stairs to call for his wife, when Erik spoke suddenly.

"I shall come as well."

"Why- no, I don't think-...why?" Nadir _heard_ his own voice crack.

Erik sneered.

"You always say I should get out more. I am now attempting to. I'm sure _my_ invitation was just misplaced."

Nadir swallowed hard.

Erik knew.

_Of course he would know, you idiot! It's all over the damn papers! How could he NOT find out about it? Oh, Allah no…_

"Erik,...no. It is unwise. Remember," Nadir leaned close, "the police are still looking for you. They will be crawling all over that party."

"I have evaded them once, I can do it again." Erik casually stated as he turned to glance at the clock.

"Erik,...leave those people in peace. Please, you must let go and move on…-"

Erik whirled to face Nadir, causing the Persian to stagger back a step.

"Let go? I'm sorry, I don't think I heard you correctly," Erik said in a gravely low tone as he took a step towards Nadir, yellow eyes blazing. "Care to say that again?"

Nadir said nothing. He was at a loss for words.

Suddenly, the two were interrupted.

"I am ready to go, Nadir- Oh hello, Erik! Nadir and I were just about to leave for the De Chagny's masquerade party, would you care to accompany us?"

Nadir just quietly stood there, mouth hanging open slightly, eyes wide at his wife.

Erik continued to glare at Nadir for a few more seconds, before finally breaking off to answer.

"Certainly." His icy tone spoke calmly to her. "I was about to say we are going to be late."

Yasamin smiled widely through her sheer veil, her brilliant white teeth contrasting sharply with the warmth of her skin. She quickly descended the stairs, approaching her dumbfounded husband. She looked up at Nadir's face, slightly puzzled at his silence.

"You have no costume…," Nadir's last feeble attempt to sway Erik's determination.

Erik simply grinned darkly. His incisors gleamed in the fading light of day, and his golden eyes sparkled maliciously. Reaching up a gloved hand, he merely tapped at the black half mask covering the upper portion of his face. Yasamin giggled softly, and showed her approval.

Nadir simply looked away.

"Come, we are already late. It would be nice to see some...familiar faces."

* * *

"Hold still, Christine! I swear, it's the last one!" Meg's knee was pressed firmly against Christine's back as she yanked on the strings once more.

"Meg- OH! Oh my, you've done enough! I can't breath!" The pale brunette clasped her abdomen as she struggled to catch her breath.

Her wired corset was stretched as tight as it would go over the petite girl's delicate frame. Christine leaned against the wall for support, as she had to resituate her breathing to her chest rather than her lower belly. Christine felt slightly delirious as she pressed her hand on her forehead to clear away the mental fog, before looking over her shoulder at Meg who was busy tying the stiff garment up.

"There! Now, let me find your dress…," Meg rushed over to Christine large wardrobe and flung open the doors.

Christine watched the flittering blonde, as she reached for her silken slip. As she slid the vanilla-colored chemise over her own tiny frame, she felt a small pang of envy for her voluptuous friend. Christine felt short, bony and awkward next to her elegantly beautiful friend, who had long, straight, blonde hair and rosy cheeks.

Meg was already dressed in a pale pink dress, with a sweetheart neckline, emphasizing her full bust. Her hair was coiffed in a French twist, with a few miniature roses tucked in sweetly. Christine on the other hand, was still slightly damp from her bath, and her face held no excitement for the evening to come. She grimaced.

Christine idly ran a finger through her chestnut hair, watching as the curl spiraled back up into it's shape.

"I don't want to go."

Meg stopped and turned to face her solemn friend.

"What are you- Christine! This is your party, my God I would love it if someone through a party for me! Why on Earth not?"

With an irritated sigh, Christine sat on the edge of her bed, hands twisted in her lap.

"I...I don't want to be around people-"

"You never do. Christine, come on, you should be excited! You're going to be engaged, you know."

"He hasn't said anything about it yet! At least, he hasn't given me a ring or anything...I just...I don't know, Meg." Christine defeatedly slumped backwards on her bed, her hair splaying out around her.

The tall blonde hesitantly approached her friend, before crawling on the bed, sitting cross-legged. Meg wasn't much of a lady despite her looks.

"Look, Christine…..I know what you have been through must have been scarring,...but...you have to go on. Time to live your own life, to make one with Raoul."

Christine stared blankly up at the ceiling, drowning out her friend's attempt at comforting her.

Go on? Impossible.

After what happened….she would never be the same. Part of her had died slowly, withering away during that year. Now, all that was left was an empty shell.

A emotionless, pale shadow lurking silently in a feeble existence, barely saying a word.

Oh, how Raoul tried. He would spend literally thousands of francs to ensure she had everything a woman could possibly dream of and more. Lavish gowns, expensive jewelry, trips to Italy. She could only offer him a weak smile in return.

Even when he introduced her to his family, despite their obvious disapproval, he remained unwavered. At least, in front of her. She once accidentally listened in a conversation between them all through closed doors; how ugly and harsh it was. His family _hated_ her.

He would never show her to her face, but there were times when people would make passing comments and lift their pointed noses in the air at her presence, he would feel a twinge of shame. Not obvious, not that he doubted his love for her, but merely because of the slight embarrassment of an aristocrat flaunting not only a commoner, but an _opera rat. _

Nevertheless, Christine was determined not to let it bother her, and she would smile and try her best to meet their impossible standards.

She hadn't had any time to herself since the destruction, so at times, it was certainly difficult to remain pleasant, especially when asked about her music.

Oh,..she had not sung in six months. She couldn't bear it. She couldn't even try. It was like...the spirit had just left her, she now found no joy in music, only bitterness.

Yes, he had taken even music from her. What was left of her now, but a fragile shell, threatening to crack at the faintest wind.

The clock struck eight.

"Oh, God! Christine, get dressed, the party has already started!"

* * *

Erik eyed the glowing mansion, alive with lights, from the window of the carriage. It was certainly...huge. He could already hear the obnoxious ripples of laughter pouring from the walls and windows.

He frowned.

As the carriage slowed to a stop, Erik wasted no time waiting for the doorman, and opened it himself, nearly knocking over the poor boy who was only trying to do his job. Erik glared at the boy and continued on his way.

Nadir awkwardly emerged from the carriage, in a hurry to follow Erik, to make sure he didn't cause trouble. He sent the frazzled boy an apologetic look. Taking Yasamin's arm in a somewhat less than elegant manner, he walked up the stairs quickly, losing sight of his masked friend already.

_I'll never find him in this crowd!_

"Ow-Nadir! Let me go, you are hurting me!"

"Oh! Oh my sweet one, do forgive me. I just...I need to find Erik."

Yasamin rubbed her sore wrist, before smoothing down her gown.

"You are not his father, he can do what he wishes. Now let's just go inside; you need a drink."

An idea sprang to Nadir's mind.

Erik had no invitation. He could not get in.

Nadir relaxed a little. Maybe it wouldn't go as bad as he thought…

* * *

"Oh,...oh no...Erik! W-what have you done?"

Nadir's eyes swept over the lanky frame, slumped in a chair, head lolled back. Nadir also noticed the several empty glasses of champagne that littered the floor around him.

"H-how many have you had?"

Erik grinned. "Not nearly enough," he reached for another.

Nadir intercepted him, grabbing it first and setting it further away, out of Erik's reach.

"What in the world are you wearing on your face? It's horrid; come on, I'm taking you home," he moved to take Erik's arm.

Erik jerked it away, struggling to stand up on his own. Stumbling a little, he stood uneasily on his feet, and then motioned to his mask. It resembled that of a crow, made of leather and studded with iron. It reminded Nadir of those plague doctor masks; how Erik had managed to find such a chilling mask, he dared not think.

"What is the matter, Nadir? I think it rather suits me. I mean, everyone calls me things like "demon" and "death," I thought for one night, I can indulge in that morbid fantasy of theirs."

Nadir quickly shushed Erik, noticing with uneasiness the several glances the two were getting.

"Come on, let's go-"

Erik didn't move.

Nadir looked up, frustrated. Most of Erik's face was shielded in the mask, but Nadir saw Erik's mouth had parted slightly, and his chest had stilled as no breath was drawn.

Nadir slowly followed Erik's gaze, and froze.

A small, slender woman in pale blue stood on the stairs, her arm entwined with an excited man, who was quickly yammering to a middle-aged couple, motioning wildly to the girl.

She stood gracefully with her jeweled mask, standing out against the glimmering gaiety of the party; like a timid beacon of beauty.

Christine.

"Come on, we need to leave. Now."

Nadir attempted to grab Erik's arm, but Erik was too quick. The taller man wretched his arm from Nadir's grasp, causing the older man to stumble back, falling against the table. Nadir stared up at his stoic friend, who remained in his place.

Erik's body betrayed nothing, as he stood motionless at the base of the stairs, but Nadir noticed the clenching and unclenching of Erik's hands.

_No…_

"Erik, don't, you mustn't. Erik-! Erik, No!"

Erik bolted from his place, his decision made. It wasn't really his mind controlling him; purely instinct.

Only one sight filled his eyes, one thought in his head, and one fever his heart.

* * *

Christine silently stood next to Raoul, a smile plastered on her pale face. Her feet ached and the night had only begun. Raoul was excitedly yammering about something, to a couple who politely pretended to care.

"Excuse me, Mademoiselle," Christine turned, "may I have this dance?"

She gasped. A figure cloaked fully in black stood only a few feet only from her, a hand extended gracefully towards her. His mask was a frightening visage, eliciting both fear and curiosity in the young girl. The initial shock melted away to reveal a soft smile, as Christine admired the nerve to wear such a mask.

"Excuse me, sir! I don't believe I know you, how are you tonight?"

Christine's smile fell into a grimace, as Raoul rushed to introduce himself. His overly friendly nature and even slight insecurity would jump at any excuse to establish his position in any circumstance, especially regarding her. Many men would ask her to dance, and he was sure to give a subliminal message that suggested his attachment to Christine. Most men turned away and asked someone else.

The tall figure just stood there, as his fingers curled slowly back as he lowered his arm. His beaked head just looked at the Vicomte's extended hand with obvious disdain. He did not move.

Raoul noticed the stranger's reaction and coughed awkwardly, before offering him a strained smile.

"Ah yes, well! I see, you wish to take my fiancee for a dance, correct? Well," Christine heard the stretching of leather as the stranger clenched his hands. "I apologize, but I am afraid-"

"I don't see a ring."

With a graceful yet assertive grasp of Christine's small hand, the stranger turned, leaving the dumbfounded aristocrat alone on the stairs.

Christine felt a pang of embarrassment for Raoul as he awkwardly tried to brush it off with his usual charismatic manners in an attempt to cover his wounded pride. He glanced at Christine with a look of 'tell him you don't want to.'

Christine pretended she didn't see it.

She felt the hand holding hers firmly; even through the leather, she could feel the iciness of his grip. It both excited and unnerved her.

The man said nothing as he led her to the center of the dance floor. Looks were given to them, Christine felt their curiosity bore at her back, but she did not care. She was entirely focused on the person before her.

He slowed to a stop, out in the open, where everyone could see them. A black shadow in a sea of glittering gold and silver. She lowered her eyes as the music ended on a soft piano note.

Then, all was still.

Christine felt suddenly awkward, even though the man's eyes were obscured with glass goggles, she could _feel_ the intensity of his stare. She shifted her weight slightly, before her eyes flickered up at his face. He said nothing.

Then, ever so slowly, he reached forward, his hand softly pressing against her lower back. His fingers delicately traced down the length of her arm to gently cup her hand.

Christine did not speak, she was entranced by his touch.

The music began.

A slow steady rhythm of violins started up, as he took a step. She mimicked him. He took another. Again, and again. Smoothly, they glided across the floor, swirling.

"What an intriguing mask, sir. Might I ask what it is?" Christine tried to defuse the tension a little by striking up a simple conversion.

The character said nothing as he sent her out on his hand before twirling her back in. A strong violin took over.

"It is that of a plague doctor. Those that would try in vain to save those from a fate they could not escape."

Christine's eyes shown with curiosity.

"Oh, really is that so? Why would you choose such a mask?"

The man cocked his head to the side slightly, as he stepped forward with his right foot.

"Does my mask intrigue you?"

He pressed her ever so slightly closer against his chest.

Christine hardly noticed.

"Yes…," she answered honestly.

He chuckled darkly, leaning to whisper in her ear.

"That's ironic, my mask intrigued you once before. I remember how that went…,"

Christine blinked, pausing to look up at his face, shrinking from his breath in her ear.

"E-excuse me? Do I know you, sir-?"

"How are you enjoying the party?" He whirled her off the side, a firm grip on her wrist.

Christine stumbled at the abrupt movement, before he quickly took her waist, gliding her across the floor again.

"Well, I, uh,-"

"-It's rather humorous, isn't it? Everyone dancing and drinking like drunken fools, wallowing over each other, all hidden behind a mask. Here, tonight you can be whatever you want to be. No morals attached."

Christine was slung again to the left, and he glided his gloved hands across her arms. Christine began to feel extremely uncomfortable.

"Sir, please let me-"

"Everyone wears a mask, you know? The mask they wear everyday to face the world, a pleasant, fake face they wear to hide their true intentions. What was that Shakespearean saying, 'God gives you one mask, and you make yourself another'? How fitting, don't you agree?"

Christine felt slightly dazed as a cold sweat begin to break out in the curve of her back.

"You wear such a mask yourself. This," He brushed his fingers across the silver half-mask adorning her face. "is only a more beautified version of what is underneath; a pretty face that hides such cold, selfish and empty emotions."

"Y-you are drunk, sir-"

"Did you ever even think about putting this thing on? Do you remember how it felt?" He hooked his finger under the edge, "Or perhaps you didn't even notice? You are just so used to wearing your own mask, that maybe it didn't even bother you to put this on your face?"

His voice lowered as he neared her face, "Used to being fake, aren't you?"

Christine's face flushed angrily, as she wrenched her hand from his tight grasp, causing the mask to fall from her face and clatter to the floor. His firm grip on her waist held her in place.

"Release me at once! You have no right to speak to me that way!" She struggled against him, tiny hands pushing against his chest.

"Ah, there she is! Little Christine, looking as beautiful as ever!" He paused. "Hm,..now that I think about it, you're plainer than I remember-"

"-Remember?! Sir, I have no idea who you are, Let go of me! You are hurting-!"

"Oh, I'm hurting you?" He gripped her back tighter, gloved fingers digging into the tender flesh of her upper arm. "Everything that I knew and love was taken from me so harshly, as I was left alone to die, you dare talk to me about pain?"

Christine stopped struggling.

"Your pain upon the cross of martyrdom was but a splinter compared to my agony, provoked solely by you."

Christine's heart stuttered to a stop. The world ceased its' movement.

Erik grinned as horrid realization dawned in Christine's wide eyes, and Erik closed his own as a tidal wave of violins collapsed over the orchestra, filling their ears with a furious melody.

"Hatred has carved a permanent place inside me, a hollow where things are so easily lost. This is not the person I wanted to become: This is the person you made me to be."

Erik stated this simply, almost absently as though he had grown to tolerate, even enjoy in the malice that resided within him.

It caused a cold tremor to wrack through Christine's quivering body.

Christine struggled to form words in her bewildered mind, though nothing formed on her lips. Loose curls escaped from her braid, falling into her pallid face that was struck with the look of purely ghostly terror.

All she could manage to choke out was: "I...You were dead…"

"Oh, that shows how much you care," Erik sneered sarcastically, his incisors glinting dangerously in the light.

"Oh,...my God…," Christine whispered hoarsely, her vision beginning to succumb to the darkness.

"When a woman has seen me, as you have, she belongs to me. She is mine forever."

She screamed.

* * *

**So! ;D how was it? I hope it did justice to the first chapter! **

**I want you all to know that unless i SPECIFACLLY say that I will not be continuning a story, I will ALWAYS post a new chapter, mark my words! So, don't abandon meeeeeeeeeeee haha**

**Please R&amp;R! UwU**

**~Krueds!**


	3. Update! (Im so sorry)

~update~ july 1st/2015: I just want to say thank you to everyone for their continuous love and support. It means to much to me! I just want you all to know that I HAVE NO ABANDONED THESE STORIES. I am currently writing on them as we speak. I have updates for all of my stories and even more for Bleach and Phantom! I have been extremely ill for the past few months, as I have been discovered to have some brain damage due to an accident a long time ago. Due to stress, this has aggravated a nerve in the membrane of my brain, and causes me extreme pain. It makes it very difficult to write, but I absolutely PROMISE that I will update as soon as these chapters are finished :) Please stay tuned! 3

Love, Shrooms.


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